Sulking

We are very upset.

We have been sacked.

All those hours spent frog-watching, often at night, as well as all those hours spent frogspawn-gazing, and what happens?

She decides she's not having a pond any more.

She was very dramatic about it. "Three frogs in the sitting room in one week!" So? Isn't that our job, fetching frogs to amuse her?

"What if all that frog spawn hatches? Tiny frogs would never survive being carried in like that!" Well, we could eat them, I suppose. The big ones aren't nice to eat; we have to clamp them tightly in our jaws, and drop them when they're safely indoors. That's what she seems to object to the most; frogs hiding under the bookshelves and cupboards.

Millie says it was the same in Newcastle with the field mice. No appreciation of our efforts.

It's tiresome.

Rachel writes: Three large frogs in as many days, one rather too bulky for the cartoon cat to carry without damaging it slightly. Little froglets wouldn't stand a chance, and the constant vigilance required on all sides - cats and mine - is nerve-racking. Much as I love the cats, I can't bear to see small creatures tormented by them, no matter how instinctual and natural this might be.


So the frog spawn has gone to a neighbour's pond, and the pond itself - small and ugly, and on the list for upgrading - is to be filled in instead. There will be nature-friendly plants introduced in its place. No argument.


Scooter will no doubt continue to bring live frogs indoors, but at least I'll know I didn't provide him with the source.

Hand-me-downs

When I was a kitten, this teddy was my favourite toy.

We talked.

We cuddled.

We wrestled.

We snoozed.

I'm all grown up now, and I don't play with toys any more.

So Rachel gave my teddy to Flossie.

Rachel has to wash it more often now.

Flossie is thrilled to bits with her new teddy.

She says she's going to start collecting orange toys.

Happy for you, Flossie.

Me, I'm waiting for Spring. Then I shall start collecting frogs again.

I don't care what colour they are.

Animal exploitation

This happens a lot here.

It's very strange. Why are those stupid enormous animals carrying humans up the hill? Can't the humans walk by themselves?

I don't understand, but I like to watch out for them.

But you wouldn't see a cat letting itself be taken advantage of like that.

Big trouble

We are in deep disgrace.

First Rachel found a tiny black feather in the kitchen.

She said her heart sank. Humans are such dramatic creatures!

She investigated further.

Two more feathers in front of the sofa (and a lot of dog hair, we notice - she hasn't hoovered for days. She says a) she's ashamed, and b) she may get her eyes tested soon).

So she looked under the sofa....

....and lifted it up.

She removed our dead blackbird, and wrapped it up in paper. We think she is going to eat it later.

Then she took our pictures. For an Identity Parade, she says.

Tosca and Flossie are going to snitch, apparently.

Fire

Millie: I don't trust this fire. I don't trust those candles. I'm not getting any closer.

Scooter: what's not to trust?

Flossie: Cats! Always hogging the fire.

Tosca: At least it keeps them out of my bed.

Layers of contentment

We settled in to our new home quite well.

We liked the garden, and the frogs.

But in the evenings, something was missing.

Thank goodness Rachel caught on at last. 

Our beloved Monstrosity is back where it belongs, in the sitting room.

We are happy now.

Of course, there are always dissidents.....

A wee drama every day

When will my suffering end? Today I was hauled out from under the cupboard, where I was trying to remain unnoticed by the wee-obsessed human, dragged into the bathroom, and stuffed into the carrying-box to be taken to the evil vet yet again.

She said a few tiny crystals had been found in yesterday's sample. I was told to be brave.

It's hard to be brave all the time, especially with crystals in your waterworks. I couldn't help myself; I had to Let Go in the box, and once I started to wee, couldn't stop. She stuffed a towel in alongside me and blotted up a generous sample's-worth, and put me in the car, remarking rudely on the smell.

The vet was kinder this time - he didn't tip me out of the box, but just reached in and stabbed me with the antibiotic needle. Then I was carted off home again. I yowled all the way there and back, and once I got home, I shot out of the cat flap to tell Lottie all about my ill-treatment, and didn't come in again for hours. I think I made my point.

I have to be 'kept an eye on', apparently. Spying, I call it. Police surveillance. Another means of oppression and infringement of my feline rights.

Twenty One!

I held out for 21 hours!

I could have gone for longer, but she picked me up and carried me upstairs to the shower room, where she said her visitors this evening wouldn't be able to view my cruel confinement.

She shut me in, and went downstairs to get the litter tray and the dinner that I had no intention of eating.

And before she had time to come back, I had a Little Accident on the floor. How embarrassing.

But for some reason, she seemed pleased, and syringed some of it up.

As I said, humans are very, very strange.

Now I have my wall-sitting duties to carry out. In freedom. Millie is already there, waiting for me.

I may be some time.....

A prisoner's tale 2

I like to spend time looking over the wall at the harsh world Out There.

But it's a harsh world indoors too. I have been re-arrested, and locked in the sitting room.

Why? I plead, I have done nothing wrong! And it's only 8.45 p.m. - much too early to come indoors for the evening!

In the fireplace, there is a bowl of water, a small dish of cat milk (slightly diluted - she's mean like that), a dish of cat biscuits, and in a corner a tray with some weird white plastic cat litter in it. There are some Dreamies too. I love Dreamies.

I shan't eat any of it. I will go on Hunger Strike.

I think that I may be locked up for a long time; she doesn't usually provide me with the essentials like this when she is exercising her capacity for oppression and ill-treatment of innocent cats. Hunger Strike will show her that I am a brave rebel; she cannot break my spirit!

She says I must wee in the weird white plastic cat litter. Then she will collect a sample, and take it to the evil vet tomorrow for inspection. Humans are very, very strange.

Maybe I will go on Urination Strike instead. Those Dreamies are so nice....

A prisoner's tale

I have been the victim of a terrible miscarriage of justice.

I have been accused of an offence against the State*.

I have been arrested in a brutal fashion**, and imprisoned in a crate.

And Rachel the Merciless drove the prison van and took me to a place that every cat dreads: The Pets Penitentiary Veterinary Surgery***.

The evil vet dragged me out of the crate. Needles were stuck in me. The words 'crystals' and 'cystitis' were used. Are they trumped-up charges against me?****

Comments were made about how I smelled. Rachel said that she now smelled like me.

After being stabbed by the evil vet, I was shoved back into the prison crate, and put back into the van. Rachel listened to Woman's Hour on the way home, where a young woman spoke of being imprisoned in the Middle East. Rachel said I should stop crying and count myself lucky. The callousness of that woman!

When I was returned home, I cried piteously. My friends came to visit, and to plead for my release.

And only then would Rachel let me out. My own cries had fallen on deaf ears and a hard heart, but Lottie and Florence succeeded in my appeal against false imprisonment.

I intend to sell my story to the press.

Rachel says:


* small dark drops of wee around the house since yesterday, coinciding with Scooter's jumps on and off furniture and surfaces. Definitely not spraying, more like leaking due to discomfort.


** a fairly traumatic chasing round room of crying, frightened cat, with accompanying tell-tale trail of aforementioned dark and malodorous wee over furniture and carpet. And on me as he was wedged carefully into the travel basket.


*** the surgery where I had taken a small sample of aforementioned etc yesterday for testing, and where urinary crystals were seen clearly through the vet's microscope. (I hadn't looked through a microscope in years.)


**** painkillers and long-lasting antibiotics administered for this most unpleasant condition for anyone's bladder, feline or human.


And then home to shampoo carpets and chairs, wash my clothes, and give Scooter little treats to compensate for his ordeal. Merciless, me? Ha!

In the blink of an eye

I have superpowers, me.

Now you see me.

Now you don't.

I am Captain Invisible.

And I'm watching you.